


The Nightmare

by 0Rocky41_7



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The personification of Ireland recalls a recurring nightmare based on a figure from her own dark history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare

Of all her dreams, there was one which was recurring and never changed. It came less frequently these days, though still with alarming regularity. She could count on it at least once every two weeks. When she drank alone, it was worse; when she had to collapse in bed without a brother to hold, to wake her in the night, it was always worse. And yet, drinking regularly banished the myriad of other dark dreams that plagued her mind, remnants of her worst memories. So it was a toss up, a gamble she took as often as not.

The dream never changed. Not in five centuries did it change. It always began in darkness. Slowly, the stone room came into view. There was a blood red carpet running from a simple wooden throne towards the closed oaken doors. She stood there, motionless as He turned. The look in his eyes was the same as it had been since their first meeting: unquenchable, irrational, burning hatred. It was a cripple look, one that never failed to shake her to her core. Even when she was capable of recognizing it as a dream, there was no relief. It was as though his loathing was a force, pressing down on her shoulders, her soul, trying to force her to her knees and break her. Her body began to tremble; starved for nutrients, she lacked the ability to stand up to his overwhelming hostility. She glared back as fiercely as she could manage, despising him with every last particle of her being, but he was too strong.

She could feel her heart begin to fail, her knees begin to weaken. Her hands clenched into fists and every scar, every whiplash on her body began to throb. Blood oozed from a few of them, dripping like tears down her dirty, pale skin. The fire threatened to consume her, but she gritted her teeth against it. It was always his eyes that did her in. No words ever passed between them; he never touched her, never took a step towards her. He didn't have to. She would crumble to her knees every time; it was just a matter of waiting. And wait they did; the dream could last for hours on end.

It was a battle of the eyes, green eyes locked on brown, wrestling in the throes of infinity for power. She clung desperately to a losing hand, the cold, dank room becoming oppressive. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears, she felt that surely he could heart and his desire to stifle that sound grew. The fear of it never lessened and never became more bearable. She would always snap to, her chest tight with panic, soaked in a cold sweat. Her eyes would be wild; it took several heartbeats to realize it had all been a dream; she was alone. The darkness felt like a sea and she was so alone; had always been alone. The love of her brothers was nothing compared to His hatred. There had been nothing to save her, to pull her out to safety. By the time she had finally freed herself, it was too late. The damage was done and she would never be the same.

It was only then, in the bleak, suffocating silence of the early morn that she would allow herself to say His name. Just to herself, through gritted teeth with a warped twist of emotions. Perhaps to prove that she could say it, if she wanted to. Perhaps to show that she wasn't afraid; but that was a lie. He was the only thing in the world she wouldn't deny fear, though she would never overtly confess. In any event, the night, after The Dream, was the only time she would speak his name willingly. It was only those two words she'd speak and then bury her face in the pillow, reminding herself she was safe, she was safe, she was safe. Wasn't she?

"Oliver Cromwell."


End file.
